


The Stories In A Night

by Clennel



Category: Voltron - Fandom, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Fluff, I haven't decided yet, Maybe - Freeform, Sleepless nights, also maybe, currently going to go beyond canon, hints of romance?, klance, really just story telling, shallura - Freeform, what everyone is doing throughout the season and beyond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:19:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clennel/pseuds/Clennel
Summary: Nights are meant for sleeping but no one in the castle has truly got that memo. Told through the nights they live through, the story of Voltron and beyond unfolds.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I got this idea late one night and ran with it. I really liked the concept of telling the story of the Paladins, Allura, and Coran through the nights they live through.  
> Worry not, there's still more nights to come after this.  
> Enjoy  
>  ~~~

The door creaks as Lance steps inside. He darts a glance down the murky lit hallway, wondering if the sound carried. A ridiculous notion; one he immediately shakes away. No one would be up this late at night. Or, at least, no one would come here.

The room flickers to life; the green lights on the wall casting strange shadows. Lance closes the door behind him, checking the hallway one last time. When he’s certain he’s alone, he walks towards the control console. In his mind’s eye, he can almost see Allura gazing up at the displays, Coran standing off to the side. He blinks. The room is empty once more.

Lance licks his lips. Takes a deep breath. His heart pounding in his throat, he walks over to the console. The alien material is cold under his fingertips. It whirs softly; the sound too big for the quiet room. He tries to copy Coran’s actions from nearly a week ago; hoping it’ll work.

It takes a couple minutes but eventually, a display lights up the front half of the room. Lance, thinking everything, steps in front of the console and raises his hands. His dark skin bathed in the artificial light of the stars and planets and moons. An entire galaxy shown under his palms. And he only wishes to see one thing.

He drags the display to the left, moving faster and faster until the stars turn into merely bright strips of light. Then, he stops. Eight familiar planets shine in his eyes. He shifts the display until the bright blue planet is centered. He zooms in on it until all that’s seen are it, it’s moon, and constellations.

Home.

Lance sinks to the floor. Leaning his back against the console, he pulls his legs to his chest. He stares at his beautiful world so many light years away. With its oceans and amusement parks and family dinners and opportunities. It’s probably around two am there. Allura has tried to keep the paladins schedules similar to Earth, but it doesn’t help. Not when Lance can’t sleep at night. When he can’t stop tossing and turning and thinking and feeling.

But as Lance stares up at stars that are as familiar as his own heart, he finds that he can breathe once more.

 

*****

 

“Level 2: begin.”

Keith adjusts his feet while the room hums. Bright beams cut down in front of him, creating the faint silhouette of a large Altean soldier. When the light cuts off, the soldier tilts his head. Keith breathes out through his nose, settling into focus.

When the soldier attacks, he’s ready. The simulation’s sword doesn’t hiss through the air like Keith’s does. The impact, however, resounds. It doesn’t faze Keith. He’s long ago made sure the walls are soundproofed. As the soldier swings again, Keith moves.

They dance. Keith blocks, ducks, thrusts, while the simulation seemingly interprets his every move. Clangs echo around them. It doesn’t take long for Keith to begin to sweat. To tire. But he powers on. His mind eerily blank.

He feels nothing, thinks of nothing other than where his blade will land and where his body will take him. He settles so far down into focusing on the fight that his mind empties. All that matters is how good he is. Good enough to defeat the simulation. Good enough to meet Altean standards. Good enough to keep pushing, pushing, pushing.

With a final blow, Keith thrusts his bayard through the simulation’s chest. It flickers once, then shatters around the blade, leaving him standing there, frozen and breathing heavily. Keith heaves in a deep breath. Slowly straightens. He lowers his bayard as he wipes sweat and hair away from his face.

Good, but not good enough. Altean children can easily beat the first three levels of simulations without pausing. Keith still struggles. He blinks, cracks his neck, and readies himself.

“Level 3: begin.”

 

*******

 

Shiro jolts awake in a cold sweat. His gasp of fear echoes faintly back. Faces appear from the dark. Whispers, knives sharpening, screaming. He presses himself up against the back of his headboard. They’re coming for him. They’ll never stop.

He reaches for something. Anything. But a strange arm glints back at him. One that he’s not in control of. Like a bolt of lightning, there’s pain. Phantom agony from someone ripping off his limb, putting something sinister back. Alien. Unnatural.

He’s unnatural; like the monsters gathering around him. One of them.

“No,” Shiro whispers, “no, no, no, no, no…”

Not again. He can’t go through this again. It’s too dark here. He won’t be able to find his way out. Through the panic however, he dimly remembers a light. Off to his side. He dives for it just as the monsters, things, aliens, galra attack.

Yellow light fills the room, obliterating the apparitions with it. Shiro’s breaths come out in frantic pants. He glances around, slowly coming to terms with reality. 

“Space. Palace,” Shiro murmurs, a new chant that settles him down. Reminds him where he is. “Altea. Voltron. Black Lion. Third door on the left. Coran. Allura…”

Shiro takes a stuttering breath in. Leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. When he feels steady enough, he peers down at his robotic arm. The agony is gone. He wiggles his fingers. Normal. Sometimes, he even forgets it’s not his real hand.

Everything is fine. Just another nightmare. Even still, Shiro stays awake. He stares at everything in his room, cataloging it. Careful not to let his thoughts wander too far. He has to be okay. Voltron, the princess, everyone needs him to be okay.

It takes him another hour before he can fall back into a restless sleep. 

 

********

 

Hunk very well should be asleep at this hour. But sometimes, his brain just won’t stop. He tiptoes into the kitchen, bracing himself for the bright light. Despite it being soft, he still furtively glances over his shoulder every couple of seconds. The last thing he wants is to be waking anyone else up.

He hoists himself up onto the counter. Rests his elbows on his thighs and lets his chin drop into his hands. His mind still going a thousand miles a minute. How does the castle work? What are the lights powered from? Oh what he would give to be allowed a glimpse into the engine of this thing.

Hunk tries to shake the thoughts from his head. There’s no telling how early they’ll wake up and not getting sleep is going to mean hell for him tomorrow. If only his mind would shut up, he might be able to get some rest. Might be able to start feeling tired.

During a lazy look around the kitchen, his gaze falls on the Altean equivalent of a fridge. His fingers tap on the counter’s edge for a heartbeat, deciding, before he pushes himself off the counter. Well, if he’s going to be up, he might as well put his brain to work.

Hunk opens the fridge. Grimacing at the green goo that Alteans call food, he tries the cupboards. Some strange seasonings and packets? He shrugs. They’re good enough. Trying to be as quiet as possible, Hunk gets to work on setting up edible, mock earthen meals. It's a goal he’s been trying to accomplish for a while now.

And like the scattered sleepless nights before it, Hunk’s thoughts are quieted by the hyper focus on the task at hand. By the time he’s done with an experimental meal, exhaustion has finally taken over. He trudges back to his room, and thinks only of everyone’s reactions tomorrow before he falls asleep.

 

*******

 

The laptop screen stands stark against the pitch room. Pidge leans forward, the lines of code reflected in her glasses. Her hand yanks the mouse erratically over the desk. Altean internet is not much compatible with Earth’s; but it’s a good thing she’s not using Earthen sites or Earthen information.

She crinkles her nose in frustration as her screen flashes red from another failed attempt. She types in a couple more things. Red light washes over her face again. Pidge growls, leaning away from her computer in disgust. In the same breath, she catches sight of the Galran tech on her desk. Cords wind in and around it, each and every one connected to her computer.

A useless attempt to connect with their ship. It’s not possible. She knows this. But same tech, same source right? It never works. It should work. She has to make it work.

Rage curls around her heart. In the span of a breath, she dives forward and swipes the horrid thing away. Watches it hurl across the room, pulling the cords taunt before it falls. The clatter hardly makes her blink.  
Instead, her rage morphs to something else. Pidge leans back into her chair, fighting against burning eyes. Against the knowledge that she’s not skilled enough to get what she needs. Not skilled enough to hack into the Altean archives, to hack into something, anything that might give her any clue about her enemy.

She wraps her arms around herself. Habitually, she pushes her glasses up her nose, just like Matt does. The thought chokes her. Matt. Dad. Pidge tries very hard not to look at the photo propped up against her computer. She tries so hard not to think of what’s happened to them, of where they are, of how she may never find them.

She fails.

Pidge doesn’t remember reaching for it, but seconds later, she’s clutching their photo in her hands. Lit only by the ice blue background of her screen, she stares down at her family. Wonders if she’ll ever see their smile again.

If she’ll ever be able to do something. Save them. Act, instead of drowning in helplessness. She would give anything for just an idea, a scrap of information. That’s all she needs. Then, she’ll take the green lion and fly out into the stars. Never feel helpless again.

Pidge doesn’t remember slumping over the desk or falling asleep with her fingers still curled around the picture.

 

********

 

Allura hugs a small screen to her chest while she slips down the halls. Her footsteps hardly make a sound. Despite the rooms she passes being the paladins, she knows that she won’t stir them. She’s crept down this hall far too many nights for it to wake them now.

The lights flash to life as she walks by. She winces at their sudden brightness. The fear of it stirring Coran speeds her pace. When she reaches the room, she slips inside like a ghost. The door slides quietly shut behind her. She breathes a sigh of relief. Another night down.

Allura brushes herself off. The room around her is dark. Or at least, it is until she motions the green flames to life. Light floods the space, revealing only a round device in the middle. Around it, small screens litter the floor. Papers from a distant planet lay in a disorganized stack to the side.

She makes her way towards it. Sinks down to her knees and places the small screen she carried down. With a few taps, it hums its response, flickering on. A cold display of new information from Galra ships glares at her.

Allura takes a breath and gets to work. She pushes some screens together. Makes adjustments on the strategies blinking on them. Writes calculations, possibilities, failed attempts on nearby pieces of paper. Minutes fly by.

It’s not an ideal place to strategize, but it’s the only place where she can truly concentrate. Unfortunately, it’s the only place that Corran does not approve of. So she keeps her business under the protection of the night.

“Paladins practice…” she mutters, moving screens around as she talks, “Bayards….galra tech...weaknesses...that didn’t work last time...what if I just…”

For hours, she stays in that room, not needing to sleep since she woke up from the pod. She figures out what they do next, which planets are closest, priority, which Galra fleets they can battle right now, and which ones they should avoid. Everything is set out under her fingertips. Information on how many planets are left, which ones are falling, which techniques the paladins should practice, history, statistics, the list never stops growing.

It’s always changing. Always something she has to keep on top of. And this room is perfect for that. No one ever comes in here. No one dares after the incident with her dad’s corrupted memory. But it’s beyond helpful for her.

Working in here, in the room where her dad used to be, it reminds her to stay focused. Reminds Allura that if she doesn’t, there is always something more to lose.

 

*********

 

It’s always worse at night. Every breath from Coran’s lips is too loud. Too brash. Too much of a reminder that he can’t fall asleep. At least, if he did, he would be able to rest. Instead, he sits on his bed, cross legged, staring at the blankets under him. His typical smile gone.

When everyone else is asleep, Coran has nothing else to do other than surround himself to the thoughts he can’t bear to think during the day. Memories. Allura seems to have assimilated herself quite well. Stress does that. He strongly remembers how often his king would slide in and out of disaster after disaster, never letting himself get distracted.

It’s a skill Coran has tried to master. But when he’s alone, he crumbles. He closes his eyes, the Altean mountain range flashing behind his eyelids. If he thinks hard enough, he can almost remember how the fire gores smelled. Beautiful flowers they were, if not a tad dangerous.

Soon, the memories shift. The mountains fade into a familiar face. A laughing face with a gold crown upon white hair. Alfor swinging Allura up onto his shoulders, Coran chasing after them to make her laugh. They pass through crowds, through music, through dancing. The king moves to fast that the Alteans have only enough time to smile rather than touch their hands to their heart in respect.

The image darkens. The bright yellow clouds ahead are suddenly tainted by purple. Coran’s beautiful, peaceful world erupts into screaming and war. He remembers walking through the street, on the same day that their yearly festival was held. Seeing bodies. So many bodies. A boy’s grip on his toy slackens.

He remembers running back to the castle. To Alfor. To Allura. Hoping they’re okay. He remembers the cryo-pod closing on his princess’ face. Sealing her from danger. He remembers pleading with Alfor, begging for him to take the last one, not Coran. He also remembers finally stepping in.

“Promise me Coran,” Alfor had said. The sky glowed purple behind him. The castle walls crumbling as he spoke.

Coran had nodded, his tears muddying Alfor’s features. “I’ll take care of her.”

Then he woke up. The memories faded. He blinks hard at the blankets in front of him. His heart twisting. It seems like every time he closes his eyes, Altea is there. Sometimes dying, sometimes not. During the day, he manages to keep it under control. Stay focused on what’s going on in that tick.

But at night, Coran can’t think of anything other than how an entire culture, his culture, was obliterated in mere heartbeats.


End file.
